


A Good Man

by cellorocket



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Coming of Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cellorocket/pseuds/cellorocket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a cold grey morning in October, 2170, a failing fisherman hires a strange young man with an ill-fitting name and a dark secret. This secret is the key - and the young man must choose whether to let it define him, or to rise above it and become a good man. BAaT/Post-BAaT Kaidan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

 

On a cold grey morning in October, 2170, Benny Thompson brought his fishing boat to dock after a lousy haul in the Puget Sound, just off the coast of Seattle. He had no reason to expect that the day would be any different than the last interminable stretch of them – as captain of a failing fleet and owner of a failing fishery and dock, he was used to a grim procession of days that not even his deep love for the ocean could ease. Yet when he guided the _Andrea Lee_ in, he found the dock was not empty. A young man with his hands jammed into his coat pockets stood there, and from the intent look on his face, Benny Thompson figured this stranger was looking for him.

"Captain Thompson?" said the young man as Benny leapt to the dock and tied the boat fast.

"You got him," said Benny.

"I'm looking for work."

Benny should have figured it'd be something like this. He peered up through the grey morning mist at the stranger, making no show of his scrutiny. The young man was lean and tired, and Benny almost though he had the look of a junkie, from the state of him. His clothes were little better than tatters, hanging off his wiry frame, and his dark hair was long and uneven, as if he'd taken dull shears to it himself and let the ensuing mess grow out. Yet despite this, the young man stood ramrod straight, his arms locked at his sides as if he were suffering from some kind of rigor.

"I can barely afford my own pay," Benny said, shouldering past the young man and striding down the dock. "And my expenses. I reckon you're looking for the sort of work that pays."

"I don't need pay," say the young man, matching pace with Benny far easier than Benny would have liked. It was only on solid ground that he realized the young man was a good few inches taller than him.

"How's it you don't need pay?" said Benny, quirking a brow. "You looking to work for the shit of it?"

The young man did not flinch at the bitter amusement in Benny's voice. "You've got an empty room over the shop," he said. "Give me that room and access to your kitchen, and I'll work for nothing."

"That's hardly nothing, now is it?" Benny said, but he fell silent, considering hard. "How do you know about the empty room?"

The young man pointed toward the vicinity of fancy shops just down the road a bit, their bright lights and flashing consoles visible even from the marina. "Cashier at the supermarket told me."

Gossipy bastards. Benny resolved to drive to Cally's thirty minutes north rather than give those nosy shits his business. Not that it would make much of a difference to them.

A rumble sounded just at the edge of the horizon, and raindrops splattered the already soggy dock, the wood soft and springy beneath their feet. The young man hiked his jacket up to his neck but otherwise did not react to the change in weather, and the sharp dip the temperature took as an autumn wind gusted the surface of the water into chop. The silence between them stretched long, but the young man was similarly unaffected, and as they stared one another down Benny found himself marveling at this stranger. He couldn't be more than twenty, yet he met the gaze of a man twice his age without flinching. Yet there was something dark in his eyes, inscrutable – like a shadow in thick mist – that gave Benny the peculiar instinct this young man was not as he seemed.

But putting aside his old suspicions, Benny knew he was struggling, and there was no doubt an extra pair of hands for a roof and three meals was a bargain firmly tipped in his favor. With that solid bit of pragmatism, Benny made his choice.

"What's your name, boy?" called Benny, breaking the silence at last.

"Daniel Peterson," said the young man quickly, but there was an odd note to his voice. Benny wondered if that was indeed his real name, and he was just unfortunate enough to sound like a liar when he told the truth.

"Any reason a bright kid like yourself wants in on a dead end gig like fishing?" Benny asked offhandedly, though anyone with half a brain in his skull would have heard the icy note in his voice.

The young man named Daniel did not speak for a moment, and that odd darkness crossed his eyes again, like a storm heavy cloud. "I want to work with my hands," he said finally.

That was true enough, as far as Benny could tell. "All right, Daniel. Welcome aboard," Benny said, and the two of them sealed their grey compact with a handshake, one that was unnaturally strong on the boy's end.

* * *

_2166, En Route to Gagarin Station_

Kaidan Alenko clutched his overstuffed duffel to his chest and tried to regulate his breathing just as the ship gave an almighty lurch skyward. In four counts, out for five. And again. One more time.

He was going to be sick.

Taking a deep breath, he shoved his duffel under his seat and laid his palms flat on his thighs, the better to mask the shaking of his hands. The kid sitting on his left let out a sound that was half a gasp, half a moan and buried his face into his sweatshirt. Someone behind him muttered an unintelligible prayer in a voice that was too much like a song. And all the while the ship vibrated violently beneath his feet, making his teeth rattle so loudly in his skull that he could no longer hear the sounds of a typical exit from atmosphere.

Maybe that was for the best, considering.

He'd promised himself he'd be brave. He'd promised himself he wouldn't freak out, though this was his first time off planet for longer than a few hours, and it would be his first time in deep space, far enough away that Earth was just a concept in the absolute void. Though in the end, those promises to himself came to nothing. He would be sick, and he would forever be the kid who was sick to his new peers.

"Oh, god," whispered the kid next to him, his hands threaded through his stringy, pale hair. Kaidan inched away surreptitiously, though if the kid did puke everywhere, a few inches give or take wouldn't make much difference. If he did puke, then Kaidan wouldn't be alone. All things said, he'd prefer it if nobody puked at all.

It was hard to believe that just a week ago, he'd been home, safe in the embrace of his decidedly normal life. His parents had treated him like a normal teenager and not a ticking time bomb. He'd treated them like any teenager treats their parents; a source of embarrassment and irritation, tempered with brief periods of tolerance. He'd been on the debate team, with near perfect marks in his classes. He'd had a crush on a normal girl.

His thoughts drifted to the day the suit had come for him, a leather case tucked firmly under his arm. After brief introductions, his mother had led the stranger to their living room, making small conversation to hide her nervousness. But the stranger was not distracted; he opened his case and removed a datapad, scrolling through the text too quickly for Kaidan to read the words.

"Your son is a biotic," he said, his voice completely inflectionless. "He will have to come with us."

Silence prevailed. He had known something was wrong with him, and so had his parents – after the first incident they'd taken him to a specialist who'd said much the same. But the situation was unprecedented; they'd had no idea what being a biotic meant. They hadn't known it made him dangerous, and necessitated an entirely new track of education.

"Kaidan," said his father, in a voice he reserved for only the gravest incidents. "Go to your room."

"But –"

"Now."

Kaidan dearly would have liked to insist he stay – he was fifteen now, and he was entitled to know about his own life, for crying out loud– but instead he bit his tongue and trudged to his room, hitting the door switch behind him. Though his father's censure did not stop him from pressing his ear to the door and straining to listen.

His father and the suit had talked for nearly the whole day, and though David Alenko was not given to outbursts and moments of strong feeling, Kaidan had heard his father raise his voice to the stranger through his bedroom door, not loud enough to make out the words, but loud enough to stun Kaidan into open-mouthed silence.

But in the end his father's words had come to nothing.

He was lucky, they kept telling him. Lucky not to have brain cancer, lucky to have a proclivity to biotics instead. Lucky to be among the first, lucky he'd been found before it got out of control. "You don't know how luck you are, young man," said the suit before he ducked outside, back into the misting rain. "You'll figure it out someday."

The whole thing gave Kaidan a bad feeling. The way he saw it, if he had to be reminded he was lucky in order for the fact to register, something was probably wrong with the picture.

Or maybe he was just paranoid. That was always possible.

"How long, again?" the kid sitting next to him muttered, digging his nails into his palm so hard that they left stark crescent marks.

"Few hours, at least," said Kaidan, spitballing.

"That's what they said?"

Kaidan shrugged, peering closer. "You going to be okay?"

"What?" Oh, yeah," said the kid, pushing his face further into his shirt. "This is just the first time I've ever been in space."

"Oh," Kaidan said uselessly, struggling to think of something encouraging to say. "It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"Yeah, I guess," the kid said. "Unless the ship blows up and we get vented."

"That hardly happens anymore."

"Yeah, but it still _could_ happen," the kid pointed out, looking up at Kaidan with owlish eyes.

"I try not to freak out over everything that could happen," Kaidan said. "Otherwise I'd always be scared."

"I guess," the kid said again, burying his face in his sweatshirt, altogether unconvinced. "Then you're not ready when things get bad, though."

Kaidan decided not to press the issue; the kid was going to be freaked out regardless of what he said. It wasn't his place to judge, considering he'd been so nervous all day that his breakfast had formed into an icy brick in his gut, thunking around every time the ship shuddered. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Daniel," said the kid. "Daniel Peterson."

"Kaidan Alenko. Nice to meet you."

Daniel ducked his head in greeting. "Yeah. Look, no offense or anything, but I think I'm just going to put my head down until we're there, okay?"

"Oh - right. None taken." Kaidan attempted a friendly grin. "See you on the other side."

Daniel made a half-hearted sound and covered his head with his sweatshirt like a thick cotton veil, folding himself low in his seat and burying his face in his arms. He was too tense to have fallen asleep, but Kaidan hoped maybe he'd find some calm before they got to Jump Zero.

Silence reigned, and in the silence Kaidan's thoughts drifted. He remembered how his mother had cried only a few short hours ago, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "We're only a call away," she said, pulling him into a tight embrace. From the tone of her voice, Kaidan felt that she was trying to remind herself most of all.

Typically, his father had said nothing. But before Kaidan had turned to file through the terminal and onto the ship that would bear him to Gagarin station, David had steadied him by the shoulders and fixed him with a serious expression, perhaps as if to say _be strong,_ before pulling him into a tight, yet brief embrace. Kaidan didn't have a demonstrative relationship with his father – in fact, at times he wondered if they even spoke the same language – but at that moment, he finally saw what everyone had told him all his life; in a certain light, they were nearly identical.

Then they were ushered away with the other parents, and Kaidan was led onto the ship with the rest of his new peers, also in varying stages of anxiety. This was no school trip – buzzing out for a few hours before circling back home, safe. This was different. This was serious.

He imagined he should take comfort in the fact that everyone was leaving their lives behind, but it did nothing to change the fact that he felt horribly, monstrously alone.

He scanned the ship, eager for a distraction. His class was about fifty students strong, all between the ages of fourteen and sixteen, and all seemingly overcome with similar terror and anxiety. Some affected ease, staring out into the darkness of space as if they couldn't be bothered with something as trivial as fear. One even examined her nails disinterestedly before folding her hands back into her lap. But there was no mistaking the way her lips trembled at the corners, and before long she averted her gaze from the void, unsettled.

In fact, the only person to seem more or less unaffected by their situation was the girl sitting to his right. He'd noticed her at the terminal, but his nervousness had temporarily given him tunnel vision. Now, though, he was free to observe her, and observe he did. On the surface she was just like any other girl he'd known – soft, small, inscrutable. But as the hours went on in relative silence, details emerged. Her upper lip was fuller than the lower one, which she bit at regular intervals. She had the most delicate nose he'd ever seen. Her hair smelled like vanilla.

It didn't take her long to catch him staring. He looked away, but not quickly enough; she'd definitely seen. An odd thrill ran through him. Suddenly, the silence in the ship seemed especially oppressive. He was certain he was making too much noise breathing. When he swallowed, he wondered why the whole ship didn't tell him to shut up.

"Kaidan, right?" said the girl.

He cleared his throat. "Ah – yeah."

She held out her hand, flashing him a friendly smile. "I'm Rahna."

He shook it tentatively. Her hand was delicate, like holding a bird, and her skin was the softest skin he'd ever touched in his life. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, same!" She withdrew her hand but did not stop smiling at him. "Are you excited?"

He started. "What?"

"I mean, about BAaT?" she clarified. "Training to be a biotic?"

"I haven't really thought about it much, to be honest," he admitted. It would have been more accurate to say he'd been trying not to think about it much, because the whole situation made him a little nervous. Not that he was a coward or anything.

"I can't help but be excited," she said, grinning again. "It's the first time I've been away from home."

"Same," he said, eager to have something in common with this beautiful girl.

"And we're part of something important," she said. "The first human biotics! They'll write about us someday, don't you think?"

"If it goes well," he said.

Her expression fell, and he could have kicked himself for being so thoughtless. "Oh – yeah."

"Well, I mean – I didn't mean that it won't," he said quickly. "I – I'm just nervous." _In more ways than one._

"It's all right," she said. "It's overwhelming too. I just decided I'm going to try and look at this positively, otherwise I don't know if I'll be able to get through it."

"I think that's smart," he told her. "I'll try and do the same."

She smiled, and it blinded him. "I'll hold you to that, Kaidan. I'll know if you're not, too. I'll keep an eye on you to make sure."

If she thought that would comfort him, she must not have realized her effect on people, him especially. He actually had to remind himself to breathe. It was only a matter of time before he did something really stupid, and now he wouldn't have the hope of whatever it was going unnoticed. "Sounds good," he managed, a bit breathless.

He maintained his preoccupied silence for the rest of the trip, all six hours of it. He wasn't trying to be rude – in fact, he would have liked nothing more than to be able to engage this beautiful, interesting girl in conversation – but the longer the silence went on between them, the more impossible it became to break it.

He was an idiot. He'd been an idiot on earth, and it looked like he'd be an idiot on Jump Zero too.

But hours later, just as the ship docked with Gagarin Station, she turned to him again and flashed him that gorgeous smile he was already starting to need, and despite everything, he found himself smiling back.


	2. Chapter 2

Benny woke the next morning at 3am to find his new hire already up, making omelets in the dilapidated kitchen they now shared. Daniel looked up when he heard Benny thunk into the room, but otherwise did not react, prodding at the pan with a chipped spatula.

"Surprised you're up," said Benny, accepting the plate Daniel offered and taking a seat across from him at the small table in the corner, which shed flakes of grey paint like a dog sheds fur. "Usually I have to wait around for the new hires to drag themselves to the _Lee_."

Daniel said nothing, only nodded and took a measured sip of coffee, his brows knitted low over his eyes.

Benny and Daniel had said nothing since their agreement from the previous morning. Benny had instructed Daniel to take the day to make himself at home and settle up any business, because once they got started it would be an eighteen-hour days six days a week, and there would be little to no room for deviation from that schedule, especially not at this time in the season. The young man had merely shrugged and gone to the room, unpacked his duffel, and spent the rest of day reclined on the bed, his arm slung over his eyes as if to drown out the grey light. Benny suspected that for all his stillness, he did not sleep.

Benny took a tentative bite of the omelet. He expected it to be bland and flavorless, and he nearly choked in shock when a pleasing flavor burst across his tongue; just the right touch of savory with spice. "Where'd you learn to cook?" Benny asked.

Daniel shrugged. "Dunno."

"You some kind of chef before this?"

He shrugged again. "I guess."

The young man obviously was not interested in sharing details regarding his circumstances, and the way Benny saw, it probably wasn't any of his business anyway. So he let the line of questioning drop.

Benny had nearly cleaned his plate before looking up, a shapeless worry crystallizing in his mind. "You know anything about fishing?" he asked, irritated with himself for not having asked the day before.

"What?"

"About the sea, about boats. About fish."

"No, sir."

Benny wasn't thrilled with this development, but then again he hadn't been expecting to stumble on a seasoned hand in his time of need. As far as he was concerned, the only requirements for a position on his boat were that the boy work hard and stay honest.

"But I'm ready to learn," Daniel said, a little desperately.

"Right, so you've said." Benny stroked his chin. "From the state of my business, I don't have room to be picky. So you'll have to do, won't you?"

"Yes, sir."

But something caught the older man's eye as he watched Daniel clean the plates in the sink. Something about the room, maybe – the light being a little warmer, a little brighter; easier to see details. He didn't look so much like a young man in this light, but rather a boy; plain in the angles of his face, which possessed the echoed mannerisms of youth, perhaps wasted, perhaps shattered. Only a bit of stubble over his lip, familiar burns beneath his nostrils. Benny was not a man to be concerned with sentiment – he'd lived alone these last twenty-five years, firmly estranged from the rest of his family – but it occurred to him that this boy probably had family of his own out there somewhere, worrying about him.

Daniel caught him staring, and his eyes narrowed. "What?" he demanded.

"You got a family, kid?"

"It's Daniel," said the boy firmly. "And it's none of your business."

"You're working my boat, watching my back, and sleeping in my house. I'd say it's my business."

It was a bold bluff. There was always the chance the boy would glare, sling his duffel over his lean shoulder and hit the road, gone just as mysteriously as he came. But Benny knew the hard look of desperation, and he saw it on Daniel's face clear as daylight. He needed a place to hide, a place to work. A place to forget.

"Yeah, I got a family," he muttered.

"They know where you are?"

Daniel shook his head.

"Bad blood between you?"

"What? No – no, of course not. They're … they're fine."

So it wasn't pride that kept the boy away from his family, but shame. "They know you're alive?"

A nod.

Benny wasn't normally a nosy person – he'd been content to live his own life and mind his business well as he could – so he couldn't exactly say what it was about the boy that gave him a peculiar sense of responsibility. Maybe it was for all his steely-eyed bluster, Daniel was still quite obviously a boy, and a boy in pain.

With that realization, his suspicion softened into pity; an altogether unfamiliar feeling. He cleared his throat. "Ah – never mind, all right? Let's head out before the fish scare away."

Daniel nodded, and the two of them set out for the _Andrea Lee_ in relative silence. It was early enough that only darkness loomed before them, slightly tempered by the lights of Seattle in the distance and the green light at the stern of the _Lee_ , reflecting on the unsteady surface of the water. But before the boy took his first step on the bobbing deck of the boat, Benny turned to him. "You ever serve?" he asked on sudden whim.

Daniel shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. "Sort of."

"Right. So you're familiar with following orders?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now you see this boat here?" he said, jamming one knobby finger in its direction. "This boat is my livelihood; the only thing that's good and mine in this whole world. So long as you're working my boat, you do what I say, understand?"

Something flickered in those dark eyes. "Yes, sir."

"I'm not going to ask you to kill your mother, but maybe we're out on open sea and we get into a bit of trouble. And I tell you to do something that you don't like, that you don't see the reason for, that you want to fight me on. You take a step on my boat, you are giving me your world that when the shit flies, you'll follow instructions without any lip. You step on that boat, and I'm giving you my word that you can trust I'm looking out for the both of us. Got it?"

Daniel shoved his hands in his coat pockets, eyes flashing with temper. "This little speech important to you?"

"Yeah, it is, you little shit." But Benny grinned; he liked temper and fire. Anything was better than sullen passivity. "We clear?"

It might have been the peculiar light of the _Lee,_ but Benny almost thought a grin chased its way over the boy's face, like a cloud passing over the sun. "Yes, sir."

"Good." Benny swung himself up on deck, hands curling around the familiar shape of the wheel. "One more thing, boy."

"Yeah?"

"You work on my boat, you do it sober."

There was stunned silence, only punctuated by the lapping of waves against the hull of the _Andrea Lee._ "How did you -?"

"You've got burn scars under your nose," Benny said. "Small ones, but then again, I was looking for them."

"Right," Daniel echoed, sounding sick. He gripped the railing so tightly that Benny could see his knuckles straining, and his features were ghostly pale in the green light. "I'm not – I mean … I'm sober. I wasn't going to touch that stuff again, even before I came here. I swear. Just don't … don't send me away."

He hardly knew this Daniel Peterson at all, but inexplicably Benny trusted this declaration. Again, he knew desperation, and the bone-burning desire to shed it all and start fresh, out where the only thing between a man and the horizon was his own breath, his own being. He'd known it himself.

"All right, boy," he said, beckoning Daniel forward. "I believe you."

And no more was said. Daniel clambered onto the deck as Benny coaxed the old engine to life, and in the quiet dark of early morning, they took to sound, and to the open waters beyond.

* * *

No sooner did they take their first steps on Gagarin Station when they were quickly designated as Class D and directed to their dorms; two long halls with sterile rooms that gave Kaidan the odd feeling of having stumbled into a hospital. His peers took to them quickly enough, elbowing each other out of the way for the prime real estate at the end of the hall, and in the end he was left with the smallest room just left of the entrance to the hall, boasting two steel-framed beds with grey blankets pulled tight over the thin mattresses.

Kaidan slumped onto one of the beds, pretending not to hear the dismal crinkle of the mattress as it gave under his weight. Had they gone out of their way to paint the walls the same color as the blankets? Being a child of the Pacific Northwest he was no stranger to grey, yet the color he knew was soft as mist over the water, the inside of a gull's wing – not the drab, dead shade that surrounded him now.

With a sharp huff of breath, he pushed those miserable thoughts away. He was stuck here for who knew how long. Fate had dictated he be a biotic, so there was no use moaning about what could have been. He had to make the best of his lot, otherwise these long years would seem even longer.

Someone cleared their throat behind him, and Kaidan jumped, startled. But it was only Daniel, looking strangely pathetic in the doorway. "Mind if we room together?" he asked in a small voice, his skinny arms crossed over his chest.

"Ah – no, not at all," Kaidan said, lurching to his feet needlessly. "Make yourself at home."

Daniel made an odd sound in the back of his throat, and only after he'd spoken did Kaidan realize how stupid his words had been. This place wasn't home – he doubted it'd even take the shape of a fair replacement. "Thanks," Daniel muttered.

After dinner, they spent the rest of the evening attempting to inject a little comfort and personality into their new quarters. Kaidan had brought a few classic novels and a well-worn poster of the Vancouver Canucks, which he wasted no time hanging over his bed. For his part, Daniel contributed a few scholarly texts, most of them pertaining to medieval history and pre-industrial Europe to their shared bookshelf. They put up posters and stored clothes in the dresser, pausing every now and then to comment appreciatively on their choice in reading material.

But what really turned their room around was a painting Daniel had managed to smuggle in his suitcase. It depicted a field of grain dappled by wide open sunlight, the sky above a cornflower blue. A faded red barn loomed benevolently in the distance, and in the foreground were two people – a man and a young girl – looking straight at the invisible painter with fond smiles on their faces. It was a stationary scene, yet Kaidan marveled; something about the vitality of color gave him the impression of real life. The field of grain could easily be undulating in a strong wind, and the people in the painting could be waving, perhaps calling the viewer to join them for lunch.

"Nice painting," Kaidan said, and as soon as he spoke he wished he could stuff the insufficient words back in his mouth. It was better than nice, it was beautiful.

"Thanks."

"Where'd you get it?"

Daniel's smile became fond. "I painted it. It's mine."

And suddenly Kaidan realized that the figures in the painting were probably Daniel's family, and this place so skillfully rendered was his home. "It's amazing," Kaidan breathed as Daniel secured it on the wall over his bed. "It looks like it's moving, you know? Like a video instead of still-life."

Daniel craned to look over his shoulder, his expression stunned and slightly searching, as if he hadn't expected Kaidan to appreciate art or to offer kindness, even though it was more than deserved. "Thank you," he said finally. "Dad though I should leave it, use the space for things I might need. But Sarah wanted me to bring it. So I wouldn't forget her."

It was a startlingly personal thing to admit, considering how Daniel had been standoffish up until this moment. "I'm glad you brought it," Kaidan said. "I wish I'd thought to bring something like that, something of home. Not that I could have painted it, but a picture maybe."

Daniel was quiet for a long moment. "Where're you from?" he asked.

"Vancouver."

He expected a blank look, but to his surprise Daniel brightened. "I've always wanted to live there," he said. "After I get out of here, I'm going to move there, buy a boat. Live on the water."

"And fish?" Kaidan said, smirking; he'd always thought fishermen were pitifully backwater, struggling to stay relevant in a world that hurtled toward technological advancement.

But Daniel nodded seriously. "Yeah, why not? The big corporations don't have a monopoly on the market yet. It's good, honest work. Peaceful work."

He'd obviously thought a lot about it. Abruptly Kaidan felt like an ass for treating it like a joke. "You're right," he said. "Nothing wrong with honest work."

They lapsed into a long silence. Down the hall Kaidan could hear the other boys shouting and laughing, their words unintelligible through the din. Someone said something in a sly tone and the rest of them howled so obnoxiously that an instructor had to stomp down the hall and order the offenders to their rooms. But even after the adult left guffaws and whispers reigned, and Kaidan wondered if they'd ever quiet down long enough for him to fall asleep.

He leaned back and cradled his head with his arm, watching shifting shades of darkness dance on the walls. Even in the dark Daniel's painting was visible, and Kaidan thought it almost was its own source of light, the colors were so vivid. He was glad for it, then, and glad for the odd boy who had painted it.

He thought of Rahna as he drifted closer to sleep, when the walls of convention and anxiety relax. He hardly knew her, but there was an odd kind of knowing two people eke out in the course of one conversation, that first conversation. Unknowingly they had the stage for every other meeting, and even years later that introduction would loom between them, made either bitter or sweet by happenstance. Kaidan would remember the brightness of her smile that, like Daniel's painting, seemed to throw light even in darkness. He'd remember the way her hand lingered in his, and how out of an entire ship full of people, she'd turned and spoken to him.

"Kaidan?"

Kaidan blinked the thoughts of Rahna away. "Yeah?"

"You asleep?"

He snorted. "Yeah."

Daniel rolled over and faced him, hugging a pillow to his chest. "We get the implants tomorrow," he said, a fearful hush thrumming in his voice.

"Yeah."

He couldn't be sure, but Kaidan thought Daniel's expression turned sour. "You know how to say anything other than 'yeah'?"

"Yeah," Kaidan said, and despite himself he grinned.

For his part, Daniel made a valiant show of being irritated, but not even he could keep from snickering slightly before punching his pillow into an agreeable shape and turning over, settling into sleep.

And finally, it was quiet. The boys down the hall had either fallen asleep or fallen into sleepless contemplation, their combined anxiety thick in the preoccupied silence. Though Kaidan did not relax completely, he wouldn't deny that he felt better than he had since he first set foot on the station. It was true that he was far from home, but at least he wasn't alone. And maybe – just maybe he had made a friend. There was comfort in that.


	3. Chapter 3

For someone who admittedly knew nothing about seafaring, Daniel acquitted himself extremely well. In fact, Benny would go so far as to say that the boy was the best employee he'd ever had in thirty years of running his own business, and in those early days he'd had quite a few. There were a handful of lads fresh from school who'd worked a summer on his dock before going off to college – they were strong but lacked the necessary discipline and were often prone to distracting themselves with obnoxious tomfoolery. Later, there were older men who followed orders but were stiff and bent like him, too rough around the edges, too grim even for the grey sea.

But Daniel took to the business as if he'd been born to it. There was no transitory period where he spent his days on the deck of the _Andrea Lee_ clutching his knees or bent over the side, puking his guts out. He did not falter or argue when given an order, nor did he stumble against the roll of the deck on rough waters. He didn't wrinkle his nose against the stink of fish; in fact, if Benny hadn't known any better, he might have thought the boy preferred the bracing stench of fish and salt and sea, apparent whenever he faced the open horizon and took a deep breath, impervious to the spray of the waves on his face.

In the mornings they rose before the sun and set out when the water was black as pitch, breaking beneath the keel of the _Andrea Lee._ Daniel made quick work of the moorings while Benny took to the wheelhouse, firing up the ancient GPS and LORAN. As he'd done every day for the last thirty years, he kissed his first two fingers before pressing them to the face of the old wall mounted compass that had been installed by his great-grandfather, back when the _Lee_ was new and fishing on the Sound was bountiful and uncontested. He tested the dredge with Daniel on deck, watchful for catches in the rigging or misplaced sounds in the winch line that ran bow to stern. Only when they finished their daily preparations did Benny steer them away from the dock and into open sea.

They avoided the corporate fleets in favor of more or less unmolested real estate in the northern Sound. There was a method to staking out a stretch of open water, one that Benny had learned at his father's side before he had learned to walk. It required an instinctive understanding of the sea, and of their quarry, slipping through the mysterious waters, the dumb instinct to live and survive thudding in their bodies, just the same as any other creature alive. Daniel's instinct in this regard was far less developed than Benny's, but despite this he seemed to want to learn. He watched silently, making connections, his dark eyes inscrutable in the grey light.

And so Daniel's first month as Benny's deckhand passed more or less without incident. The boy learned, thirsty in a way that Benny recognized so well – needful of back-breaking work, anything to dull the pain of memory. As the dull grey October gave way to November and cold as sharp as a frost-kissed razor, so did Daniel become even more remote, less a boy and more an automaton. In fact, Benny might have wondered if he hid wires under his skin if he hadn't seen the boy nick himself on the rigging one day, bright blood oozing between his fingers. Even so, he uttered not one sound of pain.

* * *

The morning dawned, and with it came a mild fever burning beneath Benny's hands. His vision shivered as he struggled upright in bed, and a hot lance of pain shot through his skull. He briefly considered taking the day off before pushing himself out of bed and thudding to the sink, splashing his hot face with water. He was getting older, he knew, and it was a rare day when he woke feeling bright and well.

So he ate a savory breakfast with Daniel and strode to the dock without any delay, though if he had been feeling better he might have noticed Daniel's fleeting look of concern when he missed the first step and stumbled onto the deck of the _Lee._

"You all right?" Daniel asked, his hand outstretched.

Benny coughed wetly and pushed it away. "Just tired," he said, wiping his mouth. "Get a move on."

The morning passed more or less without incident, which should have been Benny's first sign of trouble. The fish weren't biting, and regardless of how far west they went, the waters were uncomfortably still. It took him the whole morning to realize that the grey sky wasn't its usual benign hue but one of darker menace.

Benny watched Daniel stride across the deck, compensating expertly for the rolling waves; not one step misplaced. He had allowed the mystery of Daniel Peterson to go more or less unquestioned because he sensed his need to escape, but he'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit curiosity. The boy was an odd fixture in his life. He summoned an old ache that Benny had preferred to forget, old wounds buried for lack of the words to articulate them. He had his own secrets, so he respected the boy's silence. But every now and then, when Daniel would look up at him with guarded respect or concern when another coughing fit overtook him, he would remember that he had not always sought this lonely sea life. At one time, he had hoped for a home where cold wind didn't whistle through the walls and the only voice to be heard was his own.

It was midday, yet the sky above them hung low with dark clouds, heavy with rain. Benny didn't turn tail at the first sigh of bad weather – the _Andrea Lee_ was more than equipped to handle a bit of rain and chop – but as a sailor and fisherman he was raised to have a healthy fear of the ocean, and the way disaster can descend in a blink of an eye. He'd heard no fairy tales as a child, covers pulled to his chin; instead, his father had regaled him with stories of famous shipwrecks and maritime disasters – the _Titanic,_ the _Edmund Fitzgerald,_ the _Doña Paz –_ and in his dreams he would see the flames and crushing darkness and hear the screams of the lost.

A thrill of instinct ran through him, and he coughed wetly, slamming a fist to his chest to dislodge whatever it was that made it hard to breathe. "Boy!" he called when he caught his breath. "Pull up the dredge."

"Now?" Daniel said, bringing a hand to his eyes just as a hail of stinging rain broke loose from the clouds above. "We won't have gotten anything yet."

"There's nothing for it now," Benny called, his voice swallowed by the rising wind. "This one's going to be bad."

Daniel nodded and set to work. The pair of them shrugged into their heavy raingear before Benny hit the winch, watching with mild dismay as it brought the empty dredge up and over. But there was no time to be bitter over the lousy haul, not when the rain increased as it did, made bladelike by the sharpening wind. Over their heads, the grey sky churned in time with the waves, making valleys and trenches out of the water.

How hadn't he seen this storm coming? Through the years he prided himself on his finely honed instincts and his freakish ability to predict disastrous weather, a god in his own right. Yet today he'd set out toward the sea as if it were any other mild grey day, just another fisherman felled by his own hubris. He coughed again and bent over the wheel, trying desperately to catch his breath. Was it the sea that unbalanced him now? He was too preoccupied to notice fine bright flecks on his hand, too quickly wiped away to be noticed.

"Mr. Thompson!" came Daniel's voice from across the fog. He lurched upright, steadying himself on the wheel just as a wave crashed over the bow, splattering the wheelhouse. Daniel only saved himself at the last moment, seizing a handful of rigging and bracing himself against the onslaught.

"What?!"

"The winch is stuck!"

Cursing, Benny steered the _Lee_ until the bow was pointed straight at the oncoming waves, the better to keep her from capsizing, before storming out of the wheelhouse and onto the deck. Another wave crashed over them, the furious water rushing under their feet and pouring back into the sea.

"What the fuck happened?!" Benny demanded, checking the rigging through decades of habit, the icy rain stinging his hand. "It was fine this morning!"

"Sir, I don't know!"

"It's your responsibility to make sure shit like this doesn't happen!"

Daniel's eyes flashed. "I said it was fine this morning!"

"You watch your tone, boy!"

"Yes, sir," Daniel bit out. For all his secrets, it was easy to see every mutinous thought cross his young face like words on a page, just as easily read. _You're the expert,_ he seemed to accuse silently. _I've been doing this for a month, you've been doing it for your whole fucking life._

And indeed, sometimes Benny forgot that Daniel was a tenderfoot boy, for his affect belied a much older, more skilled man. If they got out of this mess, he resolved not to make that mistake again.

A crack of lightning brought him crashing back to the moment; his ship tossed on the furious waves like a toy, the boy clutching the rigging as another wave broke over the bow and drenched them. Perhaps they were sunk, for at that moment he felt as if it was no longer air that he breathed, but water – salty and thick, like blood. He gasped, choking against his thick, useless lungs, struggling for purchase against the battering of the waves that came at them ceaselessly–

And in the space of that labored breath, he was lost. He saw a towering wave curl above them, streaked with foam, with a heart as dark as the depths themselves. It loomed as if hesitating, considering whether the tiny boat below it was worth such force, but in the end it descended on them like a ton of bricks. They were submerged for endless seconds before the buoyancy of the _Lee_ brought them to the surface and the wave broke and rushed off the sides of the ship. And with that rushing water went Benny.

He came back to himself in the frothing, raging sea. He shot upward when his jacket inflated, bunching around his throat just as he broke the surface, and he pulled at it desperately. He struggled to breathe, to see through the furious storm, through rain that stung and wind that cut and waves that pulled on his legs with cold fingers, pulling him down, so eager. He watched the _Andrea Lee_ bob on the waves as if from a great height, the bow breaking the storm, a tiny figure clutching the railing, screaming without sound.

First he thrashed, though he knew it was futile. Once you went over in this kind of storm, you were lost. If you were lucky the Coast Guard would find your body floating by when the waters calmed and the storm exhausted itself, sapped by exposure. If you weren't lucky, the storm would pull you down before your crewmates could get you. And Benny knew he wasn't lucky. He was stupid, besides, and this was punishment for his stupidity; running a fishing boat with a tenderfoot boy as his only crew, failing to heed the signs of the storm. Men had died for lesser blunders.

He coughed again. Addled and drowning, he thought that it wasn't air that he breathed but salt water. There was an old story of the fisherman who never died but dissolved into sea the second he drew his last breath, and in this final place that was what filled Benny's fever-baked brain. First his lungs would turn to the sea – that was the way of it, he knew. First what had brought him life, all these years. First what was weakest.

But he didn't die, or dissolve, or cease in any other way. Instead he saw the boy on the deck of the _Andrea Lea_ with his hand outstretched, knuckles straining, fingers taut. Like Moses parting the Red Sea. Benny would have laughed in any other place, laughed himself stupid at this foolish boy for thinking he could do the same. But through the whipping rain, the bleak palette of greys and blacks he saw a different, otherworldly color flaring off the boy's skin – an electric color, like the heart of a star. It grew in intensity until it almost hurt to look at – this point of vibrant, violent color in a world of monochrome, and the unassuming boy at its epicenter.

Before Benny slipped into unconsciousness, he felt himself rise from the churning water, as if borne by the hand of God.

* * *

Kaidan sat ramrod straight and watched as a girl got to her feet and made her way across the room. A pair of officials beckoned from the opposite doorway with kind expressions on their faces, but everyone knew what waited on the other side of those doors. It was perhaps melodramatic to put it in these terms, but after today their lives would never be the same, by virtue of the scar at the base of their necks alone.

All morning they'd sat through an orientation explaining the procedure, filled with bland assurances that it was safe and had been tested many times, and there was virtually no chance something would go wrong. Kaidan had wanted to ask how that was possible if they were the first to be implanted with the L2 configuration, but his anxiety made it impossible to talk. The instructor's use of the word 'virtually' made him uneasy in ways he did not know how to articulate.

If anything, the orientation had panicked all of the students, even the ones who had spent the previous night laughing and telling jokes, seemingly unconcerned with what the morning would bring. Now, all were silent, apprehensively watching the doorway.

Daniel's brief confidence from the night before had completely evaporated. He was the boy from the ship once again, hugging his knees, a sweatshirt turbaned over his head. He had not touched his breakfast, only managing to put down a glass of orange juice before darting to the bathroom. Kaidan thought his skin looked sallow, his eyes two dark pits, impossibly wide.

Not that he judged Daniel for being scared. Only a jerk would pretend he was better than the rest for being brave. Only an idiot wouldn't be scared by what waited for them.

"Daniel Peterson," one of the officials said, glancing up from his datapad.

To his credit, Daniel did not protest or make a scene. He got to his feet slowly and folded his sweatshirt under his arm, staring straight ahead like a man bound for the guillotine. Before he left, Kaidan clapped him on the back and forced himself to smile. "See you on the other side, all right?" he said.

"Right," Daniel echoed. He returned Kaidan's smile weakly before they led him away.

Kaidan had desperately prayed to go first for his new friend's sake because he suspected it would have been easier for Daniel to go under knowing someone had come out the other end unharmed. But as it was, at least he didn't have to sit in the waiting room like a panicking statue, slowly losing the power of speech or thought.

Not for the first time, he thought of home. It was Sunday, wasn't it? Only a day had passed since he left. His parents would have woken early and gone to church. His mother would listen raptly, his father would fidget – he never had much use for service. After they'd go for a drive along the coast, enjoying the way the light played on the surface of the water, like silk embedded with a thousand diamonds.

Would they carry on as always without him? Did they even notice he was gone? He knew it was stupid to go down this line of thought, but even so he worried that the moment he'd taken his first step on the ship, he had ceased to exist to them. And when he came back, however far into the future that was, they might not know him as their son.

He didn't want this. He wanted to be back home, arguing with Pop, with Ma slung between them as the peacemaker, hands held up like signs. He wanted to watch the Canucks, sneaking sips of beer when they weren't looking. He wanted to be normal – just a dumb normal kid, dreading school on Monday instead of the bite of the scalpel at the base of his neck.

"Hey." A gentle voice broke through his internal torment, and he looked up. It was Rahna, craning so close that he could see the flecks of amber in her eyes. "You okay?"

He cleared his throat. Even here in this nightmare place, he noticed that her thick hair smelled of vanilla, and he was overcome with a mad impulse to bury his face in it. "Y-yeah," he managed, pulling away.

"Can I sit with you while I wait?"

He swallowed. "Sure."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," she said immediately, her fingers curling together in her lap. "It's just that you looked so upset."

"You didn't embarrass me," he told her. "Everyone's nervous."

"Even so. I know how some guys are when it comes to things like this."

"How's that?"

Her smile took a mischievous edge. "They want to look tough, especially in front of girls."

"You can be tough and nervous at the same time, last I checked," he retorted without thinking.

But to his surprise and delight, she laughed. "I guess you're right."

And despite the brick of fear that was currently wreaking havoc in his gut he smiled too, for her laughter was a contagious thing, beautiful and bright as the sun. "You don't seem that nervous," he pointed out.

"Oh, I am. I was sick earlier."

The conversational tone surprised him; he hadn't ever known a girl to admit something like that. "Are … you okay now?"

"Not really. But I thought if I could cheer you up a bit, it might help me forget how scared I am." She craned closer. "Have I cheered you up a bit?"

"A bit," he said, biting back a smile. And it was true. He had almost forgotten that in mere moments his skull would be cut open and implanted with technology he didn't understand.

"Then I feel better," she said, and he knew that she meant it. "What were you thinking of before?"

He paused for just a moment. "Home," he said finally. And though he did not elaborate on his answer, he saw that she seemed to understand.

"Me too," she said, so softly he almost didn't hear her. "Today's Sunday, I think. So they'd be off to church."

"Mine too."

She nodded, encouraged. "After, Mother would spend the day cooking supper. She's old fashioned – likes to do it just like her mother did, and on and on. She's not such a great cook, but Father's a good sport; he eats it all like it was made by God Himself. Maybe because he loves my mother, it seems like it is, in a way." She fell silent, coloring a bit, and tucked a chestnut strand of hair behind her ears. "Maybe that sound silly."

Kaidan shook his head. "Pop makes these horrible bird feeders. He's pretty good at everything else, so it's kind of funny that something as simple as a bird feeder trips him up. But Ma loves them, so all the trees around our house have these hideous, busted up bird feeders."

Rahna giggled. "You see someone differently when you love them," she said, and for a moment Kaidan's heart stilled in his chest. "Food tastes different, bird feeders look different."

"Kind of an occupational hazard."

"I guess, if you look at it that way," she said thoughtfully. "I like to think of it as a benefit. How beautiful everything must be to them, if terrible food tastes wonderful and ugly bird feeders look like art."

Kaidan tried to reply, but something seemed to have frozen in the back of his throat. Instead he watched this beautiful, fascinating girl and wondered if perhaps she was right after all – before she'd come to him, this morning might have been the worst in his life, yet when she smiled his fear took a different shape, a larger, warmer color. And he knew not even the bite of a scalpel could hurt him now.

"Kaidan Alenko," called one of the officials, marking his name on the datapad with his finger. "Come with me, please."

"Good luck," Rahna said, smiling nervously.

"Thanks."

Before he turned and left, however, she placed her small hand on his arm, and his skin thrilled where she touched him, her fingers light as a sigh, soft as silk. And if he had known any better, he would have known that was the moment when he was lost; he had crossed a threshold from which there would be no unscathed return. Instead, when they administered the sedative and parted the weak skin at his neck, he only felt an odd joy that had filled him the moment she looked at him and smiled, as if there was no other person in the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Benny landed hard on the rolling deck of the _Lee._ Wind and rain lashed his raw face, and in the distance he could hear the violent crack of thunder, sundering the black sky. Though his eyes were dimming and the sound and fury of the storm had robbed him of his senses, he was vaguely aware of the boy looming over him with wide, pitted eyes, tendrils of electric blue curling over his skin.

That unnatural blue – not warm flesh but elemental power. Dangerous. Less a boy and more a god.

"Mr. Thompson!" Daniel screamed, but Benny couldn't speak. He choked, sputtering as a deluge of seawater rose past his red-raw throat and splattered the deck. Iron striking his back, burning hot, burning in this freezing place; only after he saw Daniel's face close to his did he realize that burning bar was the boy's hand.

Daniel slung his arm around Benny's waist and half-dragged him to the wheelhouse, slipping as the _Lee_ pitched madly over another wave. A razor-fine slash of lightning split the sky, and Benny shivered. He couldn't breathe. He was going to die.

He saw the next hour through a fog of delirium. The boy's panic-stricken face swimming through the darkness, still haloed by that unnatural color, wisping like a candle flame, but beneath the fear he watched determination coalesce on those young features. He saw the boy take the wheel with a grip powerful enough to shatter the polished wood, saw his jaw go tight as a winch cable. Less a boy and more a man.

"Hold on, Mr. Thompson," he kept saying, over and over – some inexplicable mantra, as if his voice had the power to keep death at bay. "I can see the dock. Just a ways more."

"No," mumbled Benny, shivering in his sodden raincoat. His was burning and freezing in equal measure, and the space between the extremes would kill him. "No, boy."

The ship rolled on an unforgiving sea, and Benny slid from one end of the wheelhouse to the other, his soaked shirt clinging to his chest, his breath rattling, fading. And the boy bloomed, his skin burning with that horrible, electrified blue, unnatural, dangerous – terrifying.

No. Not a boy, but a biotic.

So much sound, too much– crashing waves, crashing thunder, and each swell pitching his little boat up and over, the sea half a breath away from swallowing the _Lee_ just as he thought his _Andrea Lee_ could take no more, just as he was certain the wood would splinter and crack like an egg over that monstrous sea, the pitching lessened and slowed, and Daniel was slinging his arm around Benny's waist once again, dragging him out of the wheelhouse and onto the dock.

"Let me go," Benny said, pushing the hoarse words out of his throat. "Let me go."

"I'm taking you to the hospital, Mr. Thompson," Daniel shouted over the whipping rain. "You need a doctor."

"No! Let me go!" Benny insisted desperately, over and over, until the words grew to be a part of the storm. He knew hospitals. He knew what waited for him there. He shoved weakly at the boy's chest. "Let me go."

Daniel was quiet, even as the wind gusted hard enough to send them skidding toward the edge of the dock, where churning water waited below. "Okay, Mr. Thompson," he said finally, his voice inexplicably gentle. "Lean on me, all right? I'll take you home."

Benny didn't remember how they made it off the dock, or the sheets of rain that lapped over the windshield of his truck as Daniel sped through the flooded streets. But he did remember the boy's knuckles white as bone on the steering wheel, the tendons making stark shadows on his hands. Through his delirium and the odd light of the storm, he thought Daniel seemed equal parts new and ancient; an old, broken man with a better back, perhaps. He still had a good pair of lungs on him. He didn't drown on each breath.

* * *

Benny resurfaced to sunlight. It filled the room, dappled the leaves of the plastic potted plant in the corner. It caught the surface of the TV, currently playing the news at a nearly inaudible volume. A blonde woman spoke in pleasant tones about the latest colonization project offworld – someplace in the Verge, the way Benny understood it. He didn't really make a habit of following offworld business.

This was not his room, or his home. Understanding quickly followed consciousness – he realized that in his half-remembered fever dream, Daniel had lied.

Temper boiling in his blood, he took stock of his condition. Unlike that moment in the heart of the storm, each breath was steady. Slow, maybe, and a bit difficult still – like he had to concentrate on inflating his lungs instead of letting it happen on its own – but since he could suck down air without choking he'd call that a win. And it was sunny and warm, and he felt many years younger than he actually was – maybe a decade, maybe even two. He wasn't inclined to like doctors or hospitals, but there was no denying they'd done him a good turn.

A young nurse strode in not long after he woke up, cursorily checking Benny's chart before looking up at him with a warm smile. "It's nice to see you up, Mr. Thompson."

He mumbled something unintelligible and averted his eyes, making a great study of the threadbare hospital blanket pulled up to his chest.

The nurse did not seem put off by his reticence. "How are you feeling?" she asked him kindly.

"Better," he managed. It was close enough to the truth to serve.

"I'm glad to hear that," she said. "You were in a bad way when your son brought you in."

It took Benny a good three seconds to realize that the nurse was talking about Daniel. He supposed it was an easy enough mistake– they had similar coloring, were of similar height; they even had similarly colored eyes. He swallowed hard at the pang of loss the word inspired.

"Where is he, by the way?" Benny asked.

"I saw him heading to the cafeteria," the nurse said, making a smart flourish on her datapad. "He's hardly left your side since he brought you in. I suggested he get something to eat."

Well, no wonder the staff had gotten the idea that they were related, with the boy mooning over his sickbed like family would. Another odd pang of loss twisted in his chest. "He's a good boy," he said, and the confession surprised him.

"He is," the nurse agreed, and she beamed at him, like the mere presence of good fathers and sons was a precious thing, uplifting in this place of death. He'd no sooner thought this when the nurse's kind smile faltered slightly. When she looked back up to him, her eyes were tight. "Mr. Thompson, while treating your pneumonia we found something that … concerned us."

An icy pit formed in his gut, and his freezing hands trembled over the threadbare blanket. "Right," he said dimly. He knew what she'd say next, he knew what kind of doctor was coming for him now. He knew, so well. He'd seen it before.

"There's no need to be alarmed!" the nurse said. "It's probably nothing, and in the meantime you're free to go. But we would like for you to make an appointment to meet with one of our specialists. Just to keep an eye on things."

He ignored this. "What about the pneumonia? Is that gone?"

"Well …" the nurse said slowly. "It's been mostly addressed. You'll need to take an antibiotic, and I highly recommend you keep warm and dry this winter."

He thought it would be rude to laugh at the suggestion, so he kept his lips clamped firmly shut. A fisherman, keep warm and dry! Especially during winter! He doubted there'd be a day where even advancing technology could make such a ridiculous thing happen.

"I suppose that's all for now, Mr. Thompson. Your things are in the cabinet over there; you'll get a call from us soon to schedule your appointment with the specialist."

"Right. Thank you."

She gave him another kind smile and proceeded to remove his IV, her fingers light and cool at the crook of his arm. He was only partially aware of her ministrations, instead focusing on the sound of her shoes clacking smartly on the linoleum as she bustled about. He waited until he'd heard her turn the corner before pushing himself upright, slinging his stiff legs over the side of the bed.

He had to get out of here. His heart struggled against his ribs and each breath was like pushing wet cement through a straw, but he'd sooner run swim naked to Anchorage than stay here. He knew this song and dance, the macabre steps. First his uncle, then his dad, then his brothers. Ten, fifteen, twenty five years ago. He heard the clock ticking in his ear, counting out borrowed time. Every day on the sea, he'd known it.

"Mr. Thompson?"

He spun wildly, fingers frozen over the buttons of his filthy shirt, heart digging a hole in his chest. But it was only Daniel, looking at him with dark brows furrowed over troubled eyes. "What are you doing?"

He cleared his throat and finished buttoning his shirt. "We're leaving."

"They discharged you already?" Daniel asked. "I thought it was going to be a few more days still."

"Nope. I'm fit as a fiddle. They're kicking my lazy ass out. Need the room, you see."

Daniel did not look convinced. "Your arm is bleeding," he said mildly. "They left your arm like that, huh?"

That little shit was entirely too smart for his own good. Benny shrugged into his heavy overcoat and shot the boy a steely glare. "Let me put this in terms a little smart ass like you will understand: _I'm_ leaving. If you want a ride back, better follow close and save the third degree for the car, got it?"

Daniel was obviously not pleased with this ultimatum – if anything, his brows went lower over even more troubled eyes – but he mashed his lips together and did not say another word. Benny nodded and strode from the room, doing his best to make his way through the halls as inconspicuously as possible, but he needn't have bothered. The trek turned out to be fairly easy, as the floor was in a state of disarray, making it easy for them to slip into the elevator unnoticed.

Outside, the sun was shining and a bracing wind came from the northwest, rustling the bare trees, whose limbs shivered against the cold sky like arms flung outward. Benny craned around until he caught a glimpse of the coast far in the distance; the water was a perfect navy blue, and the brisk wind gusted the surface into chop. At the sight of that blue cutting like a knife in the horizon, he felt some hard knot ease in him. It did him no good to be away from the water.

He made for the driver's side of his truck when Daniel held out a hand. "Let me."

"What's this nonsense?"

Daniel sighed. "Don't make a scene. You just got out of the hospital. You're still sick. Let me drive."

Benny almost laughed. "Well I wouldn't want to make a scene." But he acquiesced with no further argument.

They were halfway out of the hospital car lot when Benny turned to Daniel, watching a muscle flicker in the bow's jaw. "I figure we got a few things to talk about," he said firmly.

For a moment Benny thought the boy would refuse out of principle, considering the situation. But with a grudging sigh, Daniel gestured impatiently as if to allow them.

Now that he was free of the hospital, with his fate tucked away in a dark corner of his mind (so far that it almost ceased to exist), Benny was likewise free to remember the circumstances. The storm, falling overboard, drowning. Rising from the water, the boy lit like a blue candle, electric and fierce through the grey of the storm.

"Firstly, I want to know what happened to my ship," Benny said. "Where's the _Lee?"_

"She's docked and waiting for you," Daniel said promptly. "Not a scratch on her."

This was a surprise; Benny had been mentally preparing himself for a wrecked skiff since he'd opened his eyes. "You brought my boat to dock in the middle of a storm by yourself?"

Daniel shrugged. "It was that or die."

Benny was speechless. Daniel was a boy, yes, and it'd been many years since he'd known such anger in a person. But there was no denying his skill, or the simple fact that he'd saved both their lives after only a month of working aboard the _Lee._ It had taken him many years to grow familiar enough with his old ship to man it alone.

"You took me to the hospital when you promised not to," Benny said.

Daniel turned the full measure of his incredulous gaze on Benny. "I didn't promise anything, Mr. Thompson. I said I'd take you home. I didn't say _when."_

The balls on this one! "Fair enough, you little shit," Benny said. Maybe it had to do with the fact that the sky was blue and the sea was calm, and he was free of the hospital with no solemn news under his belt, but he found he could no longer muster the appropriate temper with Daniel's deception. "Don't try something like that again."

"Or what?" Daniel challenged. "You'll keel haul me?"

"I wouldn't be giving me ideas right now, smartass."

"Fine, fine," Daniel said. "This is me, taking you home. Just like I said I would."

Benny looked at Daniel out of the corner of his eye; the wiry lines of him, the serious face, far too serious for someone his age. He'd avoided this line of questioning because at the core of this boy was a power he did not understand, and he was smart enough to fear it. "You're one of them biotics, aren't you," he asked slowly.

Daniel watched the scenery from the beyond the car window, the hard grey sidewalks blurring, splashes of yellow street paint and red signs. "Yeah," he said finally.

"Must have slipped your mind, huh?" Benny said. "Didn't think to disclose it to your employer. Easy mistake to make. Not like it's on your mind all the time or anything."

Daniel rounded on him. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

"I sure ain't laughing."

"Right. Well, this setup isn't exactly regular. Kind of why I wanted it."

"I figured."

Silence prevailed. Daniel continued his tight-lipped scrutiny of the bright afternoon blurring past the windows, that muscle leaping even harder in his tight jaw, and Benny abruptly felt a twinge of pity for the boy as another piece of the truth locked in place.

He didn't watch a whole lot of the news, but he'd heard about Biotics Acclimation and Training. He didn't think there was a soul on Earth who hadn't heard at least a little about it, the way Conatix carried on. Big fanfare couple years back, shuttling those biotic kids out to Gagarin and molding them into supermen, or so they liked to say. _'The Future of humanity is at stake! On the backs of these kids, humanity can step toe to toe with the asari and turians. Secure our place in space!_ ' Lots of hoopla. Then a year ago or so ago, they'd suddenly gone quiet. The program was unceremoniously shut down. They'd stopped harping on securing man's place in space and started talking about building up his defenses here on Earth. In Benny's opinion it had all been pretty damn suspicious. Not like his opinion was worth jack shit, and not like he was in a privileged position to know any better. But he was a man who made his living on instinct, and instinct told him the situation was suspicious.

Benny was starting to get a pretty good idea what the deal was with his young employee. Obviously a runaway, obviously a product of BAaT. Possibly had studied for years, going by the state of his power and control. It didn't take a genius to figure out something terrible had happened up at Gagarin, something that Daniel still carried with him today.

"Aren't you going to kick me out?" Daniel asked, resigned.

"No," Benny said. "It's not my business."

This seemed to surprise the boy. "W-what?"

"I said it's not my business. Way I see it, you saved my hide, and you didn't have to. Long as you're not on the run from the law, I don't care where you came from."

Benny thought this would please the boy, who until this moment had seemed to want nothing more than privacy, but if anything he seemed to become even more remote. "Thanks," he said, turning back to the road. And it struck Benny that in that moment he was as bitter as old blood.

* * *

Thirty biotic teenagers stood in a freezing classroom. None of them dared to breathe. Their doctor inspected them with his hands folded behind his back, strolling through their ranks and prodding their implant scars as if he scrutinized cattle and not children. A sick feeling twisted in Kaidan's gut, but he kept himself as straight and motionless as his peers.

The door whooshed open, and a small, compactly muscled woman strode into the room, a datapad tucked firmly under her arm. She surveyed them all cursorily before referring to the datapad, scanning its contents with quick fingers.

Kaidan had not known what he expected; considering that humanity was still so new to biotic training, he'd assumed their instructor would be someone who'd had a few years or centuries to get comfortable with the whole thing – an asari, maybe. But the more he thought about it, the more he got the feeling that Conatix probably didn't want to make humanity looking weak by asking the Council directly for help. Stupid, in Kaidan's opinion, but he wasn't in a position to air his concerns.

"I am Instructor DeLange," said the woman briskly. "You will refer to me as Instructor DeLange or ma'am, understood?"

A weak chorus of yes ma'ams filled the training room. Instructor DeLange frowned, but did not comment.

"Now, Dr. Smith has informed me that you are in perfect health, and are ready to begin training."

"That's right," said the doctor. "Not a crossed wire to be seen, and not a whiff of infection."

Beside him, Daniel stirred. As if any of them needed reminding that their procedure had been risky. "Very well," Instructor DeLange said with a decorous little sniff. "You may go."

She faced them as the doctor slipped through the door and into the hallway, her expression stern and, Kaidan thought, a little desperate. "We're going to jump right in. You're not the first class of biotics to train here, so you have the most ground to cover. I will not tolerate anything less than your most devoted effort in these trials, and those who fail to complete the tasks assigned to them will be punished."

Kaidan's classmates shifted in place. He could see that some of them were eager to start lifting and throwing and using what they imagined to be their infallible powers. Others looked at Instructor DeLange with wariness and fear. Even Rahna, who had met every other challenge since they'd arrived with grace and courage, recoiled from the instructor's hard words.

"First, we will be teaching you to harness the power of the mass effect field to move small objects," said DeLange, gesturing to a long row of tables outfitted with thirty glass balls the size of an average person's palm. Kaidan eyed them apprehensively – wouldn't it have made better sense to commence the trial with a softer material?

Another student seemed to have had the same idea. "What if we break them?" she said nervously.

A flicker of something crossed the woman's expression. "You would have to throw them very hard to break them," she said softly, but in the next instant her features were stern and her voice sharp. "All the same, you must not be afraid to summon every ounce of power you can manage. Likewise, you must handle them with an equal measure of control, or suffer the consequences. Please step forward and choose a ball."

The students obeyed, whispering amongst themselves as they did so. Already the instructors expected them to move things with their minds, and no one had actually told them how to do it! But Kaidan took his place at one of the tables, Daniel and Rahna on either side of him. Daniel's already pale complexion had taken the color of soured milk, but he set his jaw and nodded determinedly. Rahna flashed him a quick smile, and he saw that her delicate hands shook.

"Extend your hands, and your minds," said Instructor DeLange, walking among them, her own hands folded behind her back. "This is not magic, what you aim to do, but science. Be aware of the mass of the object you seek to move, and the trajectory it will achieve when you move it. Be aware of the space it occupies. When you are able to do this, only then will you be able to manipulate the forces of gravity."

Thirty teenagers extended their hands and strained until they were red in the face. Some swore under their breath, quiet enough that Instructor DeLange could not hear them. But no one tried harder than Daniel, whose extended hand shook with exertion, his white lips mashed against his teeth. "Come on," he muttered. "Damn it."

Kaidan turned back to his own ball, sitting innocuously on the table, the surface of it glinting in the harsh light of the room. He made himself aware of the ball and of the room and of himself, but it seemed to make little difference; the ball remained frustratingly inert.

"Pitiful," said Instructor DeLange as she craned over Daniel's shoulder, eying his lack of progress with narrowed eyes. "Pathetic. You lack focus and fortitude."

"I'm trying, Instructor DeLange," Daniel said between clenched teeth.

"Trying is not good enough. Say a man slips and is falling to his death. It is in your power to save his life. Is your failed attempt going to come as any comfort to him?"

"No," Daniel muttered, biting his lip.

"No, indeed." She craned closer. "Are you sure you possess any biotic ability at all?"

Kaidan frowned, temper surging through him. Daniel wasn't the only one who was struggling – no one had managed to make the balls so much as shiver on their pillows - yet clearly Instructor DeLange had assumed weakness and desperation in Daniel and swooped in for the kill. "We're all trying," Kaidan heard himself snap. "You haven't actually told us how to do anything."

A hush swept over the room, and Daniel saw twenty-nine pairs of wide eyes staring incredulously at him. For her part, Instructor DeLange seemed too stunned to retaliate at first. "I have told you how to do this," she said slowly. "Be aware of the ball –"

"Why don't you show us how it's done, then?" Kaidan cut her off. Even now a small part of his mind screamed at him to shut his smart mouth before he got himself into worse trouble, but his temper rode over what little circumspection he possessed. The instructor had made an enemy of him the moment she'd decided to humiliate someone weaker than herself, for no reason other than to assert her power.

Instructor DeLange fixed him with a cool stare. "Alenko, is it?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said stiffly.

"I think instead we will have a demonstration from you, Alenko. Move the ball or your friend will go without meals for the rest of the week."

Kaidan had been expecting some kind of deprivation punishment, but he had not expected that Instructor DeLange would punish Daniel for his insubordination. He opened his mouth to retort before she cut him off viciously. "Speak again and it will be two weeks."

He rounded on the ball, mad enough to spit glass. The entire class watched with bated breath as he extended his hand, straining desperately for so much as a twitch, a shiver, for the love of God _anything_. He was stupid, impulsive, unskilled, and now he was going to be responsible for starving one of the only friends he had in this awful place.

He felt it first – an itch along the back of his hand. At first he dismissed it as temper, which he could not seem to bring under control – the longer he stood there with his hand outstretched, the more potent it grew in him, until he wanted to scream and throw the ball at Instructor DeLange's face. He could not stand the injustice of it – his stupidity and the cruelty of the teacher, conspiring to make his friend suffer.

It was only when gasps broke out through the room did he realize something was different. The itch along his hand had grown to a burn, and he watched, transfixed, as a blue flame erupted over his skin, tendrils curling in the sterile air of the room. He could _feel_ it now – the gravity holding them in place, the ball nestled in its influence. He gasped as the burn spread over his arm, boiling in his bones, his blood, as the hairs on his air stood straight up, crackling with electricity. Someone screamed. The ball shivered on its pillow once before flying through the air, where it smashed into his face hard enough to shatter.

"Oh!" Rahna cried, rushing forward without thinking and lifting her fingers to the corner of his mouth. His mind spun stupidly for a moment before she realized that when she drew away they were dark with blood. Oh. He was hurt. His head spun.

Incredibly, Instructor DeLange did not seem disappointed by this development, and Kaidan suddenly had the feeling she'd known distress would help someone make a breakthrough. "Well done," she said, bestowing him with a small smile. "You have power, but not control. Which is just fine, as control can be taught." She did not say that power could not, but the class understood it regardless.

"Now," she said, clapping her hands together briskly. "Someone escort this young man to the doctor."

"I will," said Rahna immediately, her arm slipping through Kaidan's. Gooseflesh rose where her fingers touched skin.

Instructor DeLange waved them away and turned back to the class to resume their instruction. Before they slipped into the hallway, Kaidan saw that his classmates resumed their efforts with more determination, now that they saw it was possible to do as the instructor asked. He was not a big fan of tricks as a general rule, but he couldn't deny Instructor DeLange had played them all like fiddles, to considerable effect.

"Are you alright?" Rahna said, then bit her lip. "Does it hurt much?"

"Nah," Kaidan lied.

"You're probably going to have scars there all your life," she said, nodding toward his lips.

"Ah, well," he mumbled. "It's not a big deal."

She was quiet for a moment, her cheeks going pink. "You were very brave."

Kaidan was caught uncomfortably between pride and humility – he knew he hadn't been so much brave as he'd been stupid, but knowing she thought he had was intoxicating in a way he didn't understand. "Ah, well," he said again, taking his hand away from his freely bleeding lips and inadvertently dribbling blood on his shirt.

She smiled as she took his arm again, and the feel of it made his aching head spin. "Come on," she said, and he followed.


End file.
